


To Be Good

by Fantine_Black



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Anxiety Attacks, Blow Jobs, Credence Barebone Crying During Sex, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Credence Barebone Heals, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Lap Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Submissive Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29118666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantine_Black/pseuds/Fantine_Black
Summary: Safety, for Credence, needs to be learned. His Daddy is happy to teach him.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Comments: 2
Kudos: 55





	To Be Good

This is Credence's favorite part of the day.

The living room is spotlessly clean. He giggles to himself as he polishes – it feels like the furniture itself starts humming and glowing affectionately with any and all of his strokes. Maybe it's the magic, maybe it is the remnants of Daddy all over the house, but whatever it is, even the furniture likes to be rubbed just right.

The fire he loves even more. The fact that there is no rationing fuel, that he could even have one in the height of summer, if he so wished (not that he would). He loves being free to linger in front of it, fascinated by the smell and sound, the warmth like a caress. They had a stovetop in church, not that Ma let him near it other than to clean it out, or heat water for the laundry.

But here the fire crackles, and Credence makes sure, again, that the carpet in front of it, and Daddy's armchair, are clean. (It isn't Daddy's – he's free to sit where he may, does sometimes when he feels the need for Daddy's presence, but.) He strokes lovingly over the cushions.

Then a cursory glance over the kitchen area – it's cleaned of the remnants of their breakfast and his lunch, the new utensils neatly laid out, spices and condiments grouped together. The table has been set as per Daddy's instructions, but first – his drink.

Firewhiskey, with a small drop of water to wake it up – yes, there it goes, hissing and spitting and Credence laughs. A short time near the fire will let it bloom, as Daddy says, and Credence likes the idea of helping a beverage feel comfortable. So he cradles it in the glass and puts it next to Daddy's chair.

Then he washes his hands and rubs in the healing potion for his palms and then, yes, there's nothing left to do but take his place.

The kneepad is an indulgence, Credence keeps thinking. He's knelt for much longer on much rougher surfaces than Daddy's hardwooden floors. But the one time he mentioned it, Daddy cradled him close with an expression he couldn't quite decipher, and said: 'Never again,' so that's that.

He sinks down, and breathes. His thoughts do wander if he's left idle. Daddy has been practicising with him, teaching him how to quiet his mind, the hungry fear inside him. He imagines himself sinking deeper into the softness, anchored by the floor underneath. Kept and protected. Supported. Safe.

Just when he reaches his quietest point, there's that sound that always makes his heart flutter, his very soul lighten with happiness. Of course he knows those footsteps. He'd know Mo's footsteps, still, too, and Chastity's (the sound of Ma's sturdy heels still fills his nightmares). But these, oh, he could still cry with the happiness they bring.

A wand taps the door, a small draught and then –

Credence doesn't lift his eyes. He feels Daddy take a breath and close the door behind him. One moment his gaze burns on Credence until he reaches over and puts a palm on Credence's head.

“My boy.”

That voice, always a benediction. And never, ever has Credence managed more than a softly whispered: “Daddy.” Another hand on his crown and they breathe in unison, breathe out the tensions of the day until their hearts beat as one and they can cross the threshold together. Then Daddy's right hand drops and Credence turns into the motion, the soft caress, and he must have done it for months now but it never stops being a mercy Credence has no right to expect. (He's still Credence, people don't treat him right.)

“Let me look at you.”

Het turns up his face to those dark, kind eyes, and feels Daddy's thumb on his face – looking for blotched skin, wet eyes, or other signs of distress Credence absolutely has no cause to feel, and he's ashamed that he has, in the more recent past. Daddy has been nothing but good about it, but Credence still admonishes himself for giving the man cause to worry.

On the other hand, one time he'd definitely overindulged in one too many of the delivered pastries, and Daddy had laughed loudly, those eyes crinkling, then dabbed away the powdered sugar with his handkerchief and decided that Credence better not have any dessert that night, lest he upset his stomach. It was barely a punishment, but Credence was very grateful for the correction nonetheless; he needed to know that he could do wrong, in order to believe Daddy when he said he hadn't. The memory of Ma's endless tally of his sins still has his stomach turning – after the first month at Daddy's he had nearly broken down, absolutely convinced that after several weeks without punishment, his trangressions were now so numerous that Mr. Graves' wrath would be terrible when it finally did come.

None of that now. Daddy smiles, helps him up and kisses him hello – allowing Credence a moment to lay his head against Daddy's chest and revel in the mere presence of the man. He's not sure that he'll ever get over that dread in the pit of his stomach that Daddy will just leave, vanish without a word, the way his birth parents must have.

Not long. The slightest squeeze has Credence step back, allowing Daddy to turn so Credence can help him out of his coat. He hangs it, a practiced movement, and then brushes some dust off Daddy's suit.

A low hum. “Good boy.”

That makes him duck down for the kneepad, certain that his face is on fire and – God have mercy – his cock is twitching. Daddy looks at him knowingly, his hand slipping to that place on his neck that makes him weak, forcing him to look down and take very deep breaths to stop his heart hammering out of his chest.

Daddy chuckles. “Well Credence?” Another squeeze. “Aren't you?”

He nods.

“Then tell me.”

He looks up, gives a small smile. “I am, Daddy.”

Daddy strokes his hair. “What are you then, Credence?”

“A good boy.” He blushes into his hairline. “I am a good boy.”

“Indeed you are, my love.”

He follows, happy and warm, as Daddy strides into the living room and sits down into the armchair. One look to the side and Credence happily folds at his feet, revelling in the fire's glow. Daddy takes his drink, then let his other hand slide down Credence's side. “Hi.”

He puts his chin on Daddy's knee. “Hi, Daddy.”

“How are you tonight?” The man keeps stroking his hair, making Credence want to purr like a cat.

“I'm happy you're here.”

“Hm. As am I.” He sighs. “I wish that I could take you in, to meetings.”

He perks up. “I would, Daddy!”

He chuckles. “Not like this you wouldn't, if I'm to keep my job.”

Credence closes his eyes, leans back against his Daddy's legs. He would come if the man asked him. He'd pleasure him in front of the whole world. “What would you have me do?”

One moment, Daddy's really still. Then he laughs. “Aren't you an eager one!”

Credence blinks. “Tell me, Daddy. Please.”

“I won't. You'll wear me out before dinner.” He stands up, and Credence scrambles to follow. “Speaking of. I'm getting to work on that, and you're taking a nice, long soak.”

His face falls. “But -”

“No buts. I know how hard you've worked today, I can feel it in your shoulders, so it's bath or bed for you, Credence, take your pick.”

There's something he hasn't the words for – he doubts he ever will, even thinking it makes him feel like an ingrate – but the thought sets him on edge. It's one thing, alright, being in Daddy's company, basking in the world of comforts that surround the man. Of course _Daddy_ deserves everything he has – more than deserves, he's entitled to it, as the whole world seems to agree. The fact Daddy has decided that Credence's presence adds to his comfort confounds him, but makes him feel no less obliged to provide it. But seeking pleasure to benefit no one but himself - he has no right to it, it's disgusting, imposing himself upon the world like that, he'd surely be punished, would deserve to be punished, he _can't..._

A hand on his face. “Credence. Love. You have been a very good boy for me.”

He shakes, but dares to look up. “Yes, sir.”

“And you're mine.”

He lets out a very shaky breath. “Yes, sir.”

“And you know to treat what's mine with care.”

He nods, still folding into himself with the fear and shame of decades.

“Then you know that you deserve the very best, my precious darling.”

Daddy pulls him into an embrace, deep and warm. Credence goes weak against him, lets the fear and shame seep into the man, who doesn't seem fazed by any of it.

“Yes, Daddy,” he says, and Daddy kisses his cheek.

“Good. Bed or bath?”

He's of course been sent to bed without dinner before. But he knows, without a shred of a doubt, that that is not what Daddy means. Rather than have him lie there, shaking with cold and so hungry it hurts, Daddy would tuck him into a nest of pillows and blankets and bring him his dinner, feeding him by hand until he was certain that Credence was comfortable and thoroughly nourished, and _then_ he'd feed him dessert. No. Better to choose the option that doesn't seem like a strange inversion of his previous life, because even if Ma had spared him the money to take himself to a bathhouse – which she had not – he's certain that he would never have found anything resembling the comfort of Daddy's facilities there.

“Bath, Daddy,” he says, and Daddy gives him a squeeze.

“Alright.”

He runs the bath the way Daddy taught him (most of the potions he pours in are medicinal, and the utility of that fact makes it slightly easier to allow himself the indulgence), but then eagerly grabs a handful of enchanted soap sea creatures from a stoppered jar. He watches, grinning, how they swim around excitedly before exploding in wave of bubbles and adds more until the bath is close to overflowing. “Finite,” he mumbles, slightly ashamed, and when the water starts settling down he undresses and lowers himself in.

There's a lot of small aches when he lies down – ghosts of shoves and beltings, skin stretching around scars and he's glad of it because it helps with the guilt. Even then he can feel them ebb fairly quickly until there is nothing but warmth and the smell of food filling the air; the sound of Daddy working, humming an Irish tune under his breath, a sweet sigh of safety.

How Credence wants him.

His hands reach for his cock but he stops. Feels almost happy for the familiarity of longing, of self-denial. Daddy's unrelenting goodness, he can't help it, it freaks him out. Credence has spent most of his life trying to be good, to be enough, but there was no such thing and they all knew it – he was a freakish, wicked boy, and always had been. His only hope, Ma always said, was to purge and starve it out, and yet here Daddy is, catering to his every whim and it has to go wrong it _has_ to -

“Baby.” There Daddy is and how did he get here did Credence call -?

“Sh, sweetheart, the whole living room is shaking. Shh.”

Credence squeezes his hand and fixes him, the way he seldom ever dares. “Why did you save me?” he says. “Why did you stop them, I'm -”

“Credence.” Daddy's tone is firm. “Tell me who I am.”

Credence looks at him, uncomprehending. “You're Daddy, you -”

“And what does Daddy do, my lovely?”

He's said it to himself, a hundred times. A spell, a soothing mantra.

“You're Head of Magical Law Enforcement.”

He nods. “That I am. And what else, Credence?”

He has to eke out the words from somewhere between his teeth.

“Director of... Magical Security.”

“Yes, that's right, Credence, well done. It's my job to keep the magical world safe.” He rubs Credence's arm. “And that includes you.”

“But I'm _bad_ ,” Credence says softly. “I am wicked – even the others, they all thought so -”

He sighs, rolls his eyes. “My boy,” he says softly. “Those others may have magic, but they have very little sense.”

Credence stares at him. “But they work for you.”

He huffs. “Believe me, I'm not proud of it. Although technically they were listening to my boss. And -”

“Grindelwald,” Credence says softly.

“Yes,” Daddy says. “And even he saw that you are much, much more than those others make you out to be, my love. The rest will follow.” He kisses his head. “I have to get back to dinner. You relax now, hm?”

It's an order, and so he can do it. Make the warmth wash over him, have the stiffness float out. In its stead, the hunger comes – appetite, as Daddy calls it. A vague call for food that his body trusts won't be ignored, instead of the raving beast inside and the weakness that comes with it. He can afford to simply let the appetite be, and doesn't have to put effort into ignoring it. Instead, he spends a few minutes more in the water, before rinsing and drying himself off. “Accio,” he whispers softly, and seconds later his pajamas appear.

How easy his life could have been with magic, if his parents hadn't cast him out, those wicked, unnatural -

No. _No._ Daddy says any Auror – anyone at all, really -cannot judge merely on assumptions. They need – what did he say? - data, information. It's still a bit hard asking for that when any needless questioning used to bring him pain, but for Daddy he will try.

Information. There's an astounding amount of it to absorb, as well as to correct. Daddy has _The New York Ghost_ delivered to his house, by pigeon, and Credence goes out to buy the New York Tribune himself, even though he doesn't really like that. He's spent enough time out and about New York, and the paper boys used to bully him. He reads both papers, though, and points out things Daddy ought to know – if he doesn't give up in frustration. There is so much he doesn't understand, in his old world or his new one. Often, Daddy and he still end up talking about it for most of the evening, but tonight Credence is not sure he can. He feels frail and stretched thin, and he hopes Daddy won't push him.

And he doesn't. When Credence sits down, Daddy hands him a plate of lasagna – a new favorite- and a steaming mug of Butterbeer. Daddy's changed into a shirt and sweater, one of those soft ones that's perfect to rest his cheek against. “Good boy,” Daddy whispers as he clears his plate, and oh- God, now it's _obvious -_

“Now will you look at _that._ ”

His cheeks are burning but he can't deny that Daddy's satisfied tone sends another jolt of arousal to his cock. Daddy takes his chin between his thumb and index finger to make him meet his eyes, and Credence's mouth falls open as he stares at him. His eyes are so dark and warm, and Credence yelps when the man puts a firm hand on the bulge in his pajama pants. “Daddy had better have a look at that, don't you think?”

“Yes.” It's a word half drowned in shame, but he did say it, openly, and Daddy cups his face, gives him a soft kiss on his heated cheek as he – oh, good Lord – strokes Credence's hard-on through his pants. “Up,” he says softly, and ushers him back to his chair near the fire. Credence wants to fall to his feet, but Daddy shakes his head. “Ah, ah, sweetheart,” he says, “pants down, eyes front.”

Oh, to be so utterly exposed – Credence can feel the fire on his naked backside, with his cock turning up and Daddy is smiling at him, before allowing Credence to bury his hot face in his chest. He sits there, squeezing Credence's ass cheeks rhythmically, making Credence's cock leak. “Do you want to be good to Daddy?”

And with this soft: “Yes,” he can feel the tears cling to his lashes. “Yes, I want to, Daddy, please.”

“You have my permission.”

And finally, he is allowed to drop to his knees, staring up in devotion as Daddy opens his slacks and strokes his own cock; only at Daddy's nod does he open his mouth and lets the warm weight of Daddy rest on his tongue. Daddy puts a hand on Credence's hair and buries in his fingers; at a very light tightening of his hand Credence sets to work, and Daddy leans back.

This is where everything falls away and only clarity and purpose remains. This is why Credence understands, without a shred of a doubt, why he has spent his whole life kneeling. It was for this, it was for him, he was made to suck his Daddy's cock and he can think of no greater purpose.

He is good at this, too, he knows this, knows when to lick and suckle at the head to make Daddy sigh and he knows when to swallow him down to make Daddy growl, knows when to slacken his jaw to make Daddy use his mouth. “Fuck, good boy,” Daddy says and Credence would smile when he could, and then Daddy pulls back and smiles at him, all fondness and warmth as he rests the tip of his thumb on Credence's flushed lower lip. “Up,” he says. “Sit in Daddy's lap.”

His naked cheeks rub over Daddy's cock as the man pulls him close and kisses him, his tongue exploring Credence's mouth, deep, so deep. A prelude of what is to come, Credence knows, but a second they just sit there, cheek to cheek. “Darling,” Daddy says and Credence squirms. Another kiss, then, and Daddy's hand wanders to get his wand.

Two taps on his hole and he feels himself loosen. “Yes, Credence?” Daddy says, and maybe that is the most sinful thing of all, to agree to let his very self become a vessel for Daddy's pleasure. But he does want it, and there is a strange sort of pleasure in the shame, that yes, he will be this, will feel the slow filling, the yielding of every defense. Daddy is taking his fill of him, slow and leasurely, moving him until Credence is flush against him. Completely joined, Daddy kisses him again, one hand pinching a nipple, another on his cock. “Move,” he whispers.

“Daddy -”

“Credence, fuck!”

That's not – he's not done this before. To _take_ his pleasure, it fills him with dread, but what can he do, he wants to be good -

A slow jolt of Daddy's hips. “Go on.”

And he – God forgive him, he does, and he feels that place, and he's doing it for himself, using Daddy's cock for himself and he's crying with the guilt of it but Daddy is right there with him. “Oh,” Credence says, because he is bringing himself off, he's going to come using Daddy's cock and -

Suddenly Daddy is pushing him forward, pulling his hips back against him and Credence, dizzy with relief, lets himself be moved unto the floor, Daddy behind him, moving his cock so deep inside him as he keeps hitting that spot, and Credence comes, so hard, all over the floor as Daddy pulls out – a moment later he feels Daddy's come splatter on his naked back and ass, and then his hand on his cock to stroke him through the last of his orgasm.

“My sweet boy,” Daddy murmurs.

Credence lets himself be picked up like a baby and sobs out his release against Daddy's chest. “My good boy,” Credence keeps hearing, and he lets the words anchor him to something old and unknown. He barely notices the cleaning spells, content to let Daddy right his pajamas and rock him to a place with no thoughts. He lets himself be carried to their bed, his Daddy's strong body cocooning him until the night wraps around him with a sigh.

_Good boy,_ he thinks, _good boy._

And sleeps.


End file.
